For Christine
by bardicbelle
Summary: Starting a few years after 'The Phantom of Manhattan' (Frederick Forsyth.. good book. I don't care what you people think. :P) Did you ever wonder where the Majestic Theatre came from...? (Started as creative writing assignment on Setting)


Her cheeks were flushed from the cold as she stepped into the lobby, head bowed against the lightly falling snow. Already large eyes widened as she lifted her head to look around. It was simply perfection. Directly in front of her was a grand staircase of stone, splitting halfway into two smaller sets. Some twenty feet up, at the top of the stairs, was a loggia with a rail of stone that matched the steps and floor. There were two more loggia, but the staircases leading to them were hidden. Flanking the bottom step was two angels of pure white marble, looking very reticent and contemplative. The stairs themselves were covered in a carpet of crimson velour that looked as if it had never been stepped on. Lifting her eyes, she could see the gold leaf edging the double columns leading to the vaulted ceiling. Everything that could be carved was, all in intricate floral and leafy designs. Her eyes widened once more as they fell upon the ornately painted frescoes with more angels and mythic heroes. The only lights in the room came from the low, flickering gas lamps spaced evenly around the room. Her footsteps seemed thunderous to her ears as she stepped further into the room, craning her neck to get a better view of the ceiling. "Meg?" She whirled around with soft noise of surprise, then relaxed and gave a shaky laugh when she saw who it was. A man stood to one side of a large square column, his dark suit blending well with the shadows. A genial smile flashed in the dim as he took a few steps closer to her, hardly making a sound. "You scared me. I thought you were a - No one's called me that in so long." "My apologies." He paused a moment, as if considering what she had said in amusement. "You like it?" "It's amazing. Just.perfect. How did you do it?" "Oh, just a little bit of magic. You haven't been in the theatre yet." "Not yet." He hesitated, then lowered his voice before asking gently, "Scared?" "A little." "Don't worry." "I'm not. Just give me a minute more?" He nodded, then moved aside, going silent once again. She took a slow breath then began to walk the perimeter of the room, taking her time to examine every detail of the gold painted molding, crown and floor, and the curves of the brass lamps, shining in the light of their flames. When she had gone nearly all the way around, she stopped at the bottom of stairs, turning to look at him. She gave a nod and a smile. She was ready. He led her up the steps, and then down a short hallway in directly in front, rather than turning left like most would. There was no need to go into the dress circle or the mezzanines - the best seat in the house was just up ahead. They stopped outside a small door, a golden number five centered at eye-level. There were two more doors after it, but this was the one he wanted to show her. Box five. Her hand was shaking as she turned the knob and stepped inside slowly. He remained behind, waiting in the doorway. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she tentatively crossed between the gilded wooden chairs to the railed edge. From where she stood, she had a perfect view of the grand chandelier. The velvet drapes and golden fringe of the box were forgotten as she stared out at the chandelier and the theatre below. The chandelier was electric, which surprised her since the lamps in the lobby had been gas, but it was no less beautiful or awesome than when she had first seen it so many years ago. Nearly a thousand crystal drops seemed to have an ethereal glow of their own, the soft light streaming through them from four hundred light bulbs. She gingerly rested her hands on the cool metal of the banister, managing to tear her gaze away from the chandelier to look at the stage itself. The proscenium was simply gorgeous, not to mention massive. There was the standard act curtain of red velvet, lowered at the moment, but there was a tormentor in addition to it. The material was a darker crimson, and was edged in fringe and embroidered with a golden thread that shimmered faintly in the soft light of the chandelier. The proscenium itself was rounded gently at the corners and the same golden color repeated throughout the theatre. It was plain for the most part except for the bronze statue of La Victoire Ailée centered at the top. As she turned back to him, there were tears glimmering in her eyes, her hands clasped together against her heart. He was leaning against the door frame watching her, the picture of casual elegance. She couldn't express in words the tightness in her chest; the sheer bewildered joy she felt right now. "Why.?" He cut her off with a slight wave of one hand as he stepped forward and enveloped her in his arms. She closed her eyes, placing her cheek against his shoulder as she simply clung to him. His own face was blank as he held her, one hand gently rubbing her back between her shoulder blades. His voice was kind and soothing as he spoke to her, embracing her tenderly. "It's alright. You don't need to cry, Meg." He drew away just a bit so he could gaze down at her, one hand lifting to brush away the tears that had trailed over her pale cheeks. A smile was forced as he put a hand on either of her shoulders, holding her gently. "I did it for her. All of it. For her." "For Christine." 


End file.
